


Tokens

by ramblingfangirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Bittersweet, City Elves, Darkspawn, Dehumanisation, Denerim Alienage, Fish out of Water, Friendship, Gen, Gift Giving, Grief/Mourning, Hurt and comfort, Lisp, Loneliness, Post Awakening, Post Highever, Talking Darkspawn, Unfamiliarity with normal world, Walking biohazard, child character, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11503053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblingfangirl/pseuds/ramblingfangirl
Summary: In the time since the Mother's death and the Warden-Commander's decision to spare him, the Messenger has been trying to live by their example, as a hooded figure traversing across Fereldan, trying to help those who were in need.Such as a little elven girl, living in the Denerim Alienage.A little elven girl...who lost her own mother in the Highever slaughter.





	Tokens

_Shem! Shem! Do you see the Shem? What's the Shem doing here? Should we chase the Shem off?_

Mistrustful words and narrowed eyes followed them as they made their way into the alienage.

Mistrustful words and…incorrect assumptions.

For the hooded figure truly wished he were a "Shem" as they seemed to call humans. 

He truly wished that the elves were correct.

 For if he were, the hooded figure would not need to be hooded. He could walk freely in the open, be able to hug and socialise with the people he saved, he could get to live a proper full life 

 But he is not human.

He will  _never_  be human no matter how hard he might try.

He's not sure if he even counts as a  _person_.

His reality is, that were he to walk around undisguised then he would be cut down in an instant, and were he to hug or socialise with people for too long he'd pass that wretched sickness onto them.

He'd learned that the hard day early on in his time roaming Fereldan.

But he still wanted to help, like the Warden-Commander did. He wanted to put his gained sentience to good use.

And he did try.

And sometimes, despite his attempts to decline, several travellers on the road had insisted on giving him tokens for saving them, which varied from those round metal things used to buy stuff to various other little trinkets that were often all but tossed at him, despite his efforts to decline.

Those donations were what brought him here to this...he believed it was called an "alienage"? 

For he had no need for any of the donations gifted to him. Those like him did not even need to eat, other than when his feral brethren would feel the urge to desecrate a corpse.

So why not give the donations to those who did need them instead?

The alienage was certainly filled with plenty of people who did.

And so first, it was the metal round things to hand out. With hands covered by many layers lest he pass on the sickness, he would toss them towards any beggars he crossed and then scurry off to the next. 

 He repeated that procedure many times, albeit exactly how much he didn’t know, having never learned how to count very high. But it felt like many times at least, enough that he felt like he’d done good, and were his mouth physically capable of smiling there’d be one all over his face by then.

But he did eventually start running out of the shiny stuff. A once heavy pouch that made a pleasant jingling sound whenever he moved was now light and almost quiet.

He was about to start handing out the other tokens too, at that realisation, when he heard a keening sound.

He paused in his hurried strides. He knew those sounds, he’d…heard them before. He’d heard them since even the days before he’d gained the gift that was sentience, the days filled with horrendous  _deeds_ that he would give  _anything_  to make up for.

Those were sounds of distress.

The hurried strides resumed again, but this time heading in the direction of where he hoped the one keening was.

Humans, dwarves and elves alike all seemed to make those sounds for various reasons and he knew not what this might be about nor possessed much skills at consolation, but gifts seemed to make most smile at least, so he could try help with that. 

In the end though, he almost walked right past the source.

He was in fact, several steps ahead of them when he realised that the keening was now coming from behind him, causing him to look back. 

And then, when he still didn’t see, a little whispering thought in his head told him to look  _down_ as well.

And there they were. Huddled on the ground.

A particularly tiny elf with hair spilt into two, so tiny in fact that he strongly suspected they were one of the species’ young.  

He approached cautiously then, not wanting to startle the little thing, when their head snapped up to look at him, face stained with wet streaks and blotched red.

“Whose you?” They questioned, words interrupted by a  _hic_ sound.

He briefly considered whether or not to answer the question. He’d practiced speaking of course, but it was difficult. No matter how hard he tried and focused he was still a creature who possessed sharp teeth and no lips, and his words would always come out marred with a lisp.

And there was also the fact that he didn’t know what to answer, for the closest thing he’d ever been given to a name was the title of-

“I’m just aMessenger _._ ” But he supposed there would be no harm in giving that at least. He’d be gone in a moment once he’d just given-

“What you want? Is this about mother?” The tiny elf poke again, pulling her knees closer in.

 Mother?! What- oh. No, no that’s not who she meant. The tiny elf was speaking about the one who spawned  _them._

“Well I already know what happened to her! I know she’s dead! The Cousland shem told me. I don’t need told again!” The tiny elf snapped before looking down, fresh wetness pouring from their eyes. 

“Mine is dead too.” The moment he’d said that he regretted it, but he wasn’t sure what else to say in this situation.

“Really? Do you miss her too?”  But somehow this had regained the tiny elf’s attention and she slowly looked back up at the hooded figure.

Never. 

She was not a creature to be _missed._

His twisted and maddened Mother may have given him life, but it was the Architect who he owed the chance to actually live it.

"The Mother was not kind.” He admitted. “But the Mother is not like many.”

“Well, I can’t imagine what it’s like to not have a nice mamma. Mine was really nice! She would braid my hair and tell me bedtime stories and give me pretty gifts when she came home!” Came the start of the reply of the tiny elf, gushing almost.

"She was supposed to bring back a gift from Highever and we would have a nice meal, she promised. But she never came back!” But then the tiny elf’s voice had gotten more and more hysterical as they’d gone on, before their face once again crumpled and the keening intensified. 

The Messenger felt a twinge of pain and helplessness at seeing the tiny thing in such a distraught state, and he wracked his head for what he could do to fix this.

Other elves were staring too at this display and mutterings regarding him were starting to turn louder and more hostile. He suspected he didn’t have much time left to try help before they chased him off.

He’d come here to give gifts! Tokens! He didn’t know how to-

 -maybe. That could work.

 “What is your title?” The Messenger questioned, an idea formulating in his head.

“Amethyne.” They hiccupped.

 "So you are who I was seeking! Came far way for you. ” The Messenger declared, before once again rummaging in his bag for tokens.

“-You know me?” 

 “Your mother spoke very well of you! Her tiny Amethyne!” The Messenger then produced a small wooden figurine from the bag.

“She wanted me to give this to you as she could not return!” In truth, it had been a gift from an elf hunter with a painted face, a thanks for intervening when bandits had ambushed them. Apparently the figurine was of beasts called “halla”. 

But Amethyne did not need to know that now. There was no harm in this lie.

Amethyne was up in an instant, rushing to grab the figurine off him. The Messenger tensed as they did so, he was touching the halla as little as possible so they  _shouldn’t_  accidentally touch him but he feared the possibility regardless.

"Thanks Mister!" Amethyne breathed, their face one of stunned disbelief and eyes taking in every little detail of the gift bestowed upon them.

"Welcome." The Messenger nodded back. 

And then she moved towards him, arms outstretched for a hug.

The Messenger moved back so fast that his foot caught in the cobbles and he almost went keeling over backwards to the ground bellow.

"I carry sickness. Bad to touch" He rushed out as panic rose in him, not bothering in the slightest to try mask his lisp in the hurry.

Amethyne thankfully froze at that.

"The plague?" 

“…Yes.” It would be best to leave it at that.

“Not again. I thought it went away from here!” Amethyne lamented at that, clutching the halla figurine tight. 

“It did! Just me now.” He was going and making them distressed again!

It would be best if he just left now, he decided. Before he stayed too long and only made everything worse again.

“Hope you get better soon! Some did!” Amethyne spoke again as the hooded figure resumed shuffling backwards again.

This elicited the briefest of pauses from the Messenger, as he couldn’t help but be ever so slightly _touched_ by the concern of this tiny elf.

“Me too.” Came the honest reply, so quiet, he almost wasn’t sure he’d said it at all.

“Do you have place to be?” One last question. He wanted to know whether to try perhaps leave a message with somebody before he made his way out the alienage entirely.

Head at the ground and shuffled feet. “Won’t find me. Don’t need them. Don’t need anyone.”

The Messenger very much doubted that. From what he’d learned of the surface the young of most species here were not self-sufficient. And besides….

“Heed my word tiny one...seek them or not if you wish, but…it is not good in life to be alone.”

“…I’ll think about it.”

"That is all that can be asked."

And think about it she did, even long after the hooded Messenger had left. About whether or not to take up the offer of help...

She missed her mother, she missed her so terribly badly and mamma had said not to talk to or _go_ with _any_ strangers...but she'd sent a stranger with her present hadn't she? So clearly mamma didn't think them all bad...

And the stranger was right.

It hurt. It hurt really, really badly to be alone...

And with that, Amethyne made the decision she'd been putting off for months, clinging to her mother's advice of stranger danger for that was all that remained of her.

Except it wasn't now. Not with her present the messenger had delivered her.

So, with that present, a gifted token clutched tightly in her hand...

...She finally headed home.

**Author's Note:**

> This was spawned from the combined wishes to be able to tell/console Amethyne about what happened to her mother and to be able to know more about the Messenger.
> 
> All of the disciples seemed to have slightly off speaking patterns, so hopefully I got the dialogue with the Messenger right!
> 
> I decided to leave it ambiguous as to where Amethyne has to go, as I've seen various theories regarding her fate and wanted to leave it up to interpretation.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
